


Keeping Warm

by Iron



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Stuck in a cave, Stuck in the snow, no established timeline, tooth rottingly sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:07:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23622877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iron/pseuds/Iron
Summary: Thunderclash and Rodimus get caught up in an avalanche while exploring a new planet. Thunderclash needs to keep warm, and with it being too dangerous for Rodimus to flame up there’s only one (or two) ways to do it.
Relationships: Rodimus/Thunderclash
Comments: 7
Kudos: 79





	Keeping Warm

**Author's Note:**

> For [@Spaceweeb on Twitter](https://twitter.com/spaceweeb)! If you like my work join me at @fab_roddy to hang out!

The planet the Lost Light had chosen to land on to refuel their engines is cold, with a grey sky heavy and dark with an impending storm. The planet itself is wrapped in a blanket of snow, black fingers of stone thrusting out towards the sky where the mountains have shrugged off their covering. The Lost Light has landed in a valley caught up between two mountain ranges, nestled in a flat, open area and cushioned by a thick drift of snow. 

Rodimus is the first one off the ship, followed by Nautica chattering on about exploring the exothermic properties of the planet. He laughs without knowing what she’s saying, followed by the rest of the Rod Squad. Thunderclash brings up the rear, waving off the crew who have been left behind to guard the ship on the unfamiliar planet. 

It doesn’t take much for Trailbreaker to call for a game; there isn’t much else to do on a planet like this, is there, all snow and ice and cold? “Let’s play a game of hide ‘n seek!” 

Perceptor rolls his shoulders, optics dim as he side-eyes an excited Brainstorm. “Isn’t that a little juvenile?” 

The weapons engineer scoffs. “Then don’t play!” 

Rodimus slides up to Thunderclash, all smiles and flicking spoiler wings. “You want to hide with me?” 

The convoy smiles back, sweet as copper rust. “I would enjoy nothing else.” They’ve been fragging less than a year, dating for less than that, and Thunderclash is still sweet on the Racer, painfully so. He leans against him and cups one round him in his palm. “Lotty pointed out a cave system in the mountains on our descent. Join me up there?” 

The game’s organized quickly, a reluctant Perceptor assigned as the first “finder”. Rodimus wiggles excitedly as the count down starts, hand slotted in Thunderclash’s. 

New romance is always exciting. 

On the count of “Thirty!”, barked more than said, Thunderclash lets himself be dragged along by the pretty Racer. They both transform and throw themselves up the ragged drifts and stones up the mountain, laughing as Rodimus bumps up against Thunderclash to urge him to go faster. Thunderclash is careful when he bumps him back, each attempt leaving paint scrapes along the smaller mech’s frame and sending Rodimus rocking on his wheels. 

Thunderclash directs him up to the cave system that, it seems, most mechs don’t know about. No one else is following them up, anyways. 

Rodimus is dancing out of reach as they climb the mountain, laughing every time Thunderclash comes close. He bounces on his wheels and Thunderclash can’t resist temptation when they pass by the first mouth of the cave system Looty had pointed out to him. He transformers with a shout and tackles the race car into the shadowed mouth of the cave, pulling him into his arms to cushion him. 

Their mouths come together easily, frames both running warm from the drive. 

Rodimus rolls until he’s on top of him, and Thunderclash is momentarily lost in the blue of his optics. 

“Hey-“ 

_BOOM!_

They both startle, helms jerking up as the world shakes around them. Snow falls. Rocks fall. Thunderclash rolls on top of Rodimus and shoves them both further into the cave, wincing as ice heavy as asphalt crashes over the front of the cave. There’s stone mixed in it, too, and Thunderclash turns his headlights on only to see that the ceiling of their little hiding spot is as laced with ice and stone as what used to be the entrance is. There won’t be any fiery escapes this time. An improper melt could bring the whole thing coming down on their helms, with enough ice and snow to follow to crush them. 

The cavern is dark, barring the glow from their biolights and optics. Rodimus is brighter than Thunderclash, with more lights, and the little cavern is away in weak red. Rodimus shifts his weight where he’s sitting, looking at Thunderclash from the corner of his optic. “You doing okay?” 

Thunderclash stares at him. “I should be asking you that. You were caught up in the same avalanche, and you have much less armor than I do.” 

“Yeah, but _you_ took the brunt of it. C’mon, stuff it with the tough mech routine, tell me if you’re hurting too bad.” 

Thunderclash shakes his helm. “I’m fine, Captain -“ 

“Rodimus -“ 

“Rodimus. I’m fine. I promise” 

The racer leans against the ice-wall making up the side of their little prison. “It’s okay to be hurt, you know.” 

“I have spent far too long too injured to fight, Rodimus. I know when I am well enough to say so.” 

Rodimus shuffles towards him anyways, until their shoulders are touching. “You can still tell me if you’re hurting or not. I won’t just assume you’re, like, too hurt to help yourself.” 

There’s an ache in his shoulder where the rocks came down, but it’s nothing serious. He doesn’t want Rodimus worrying when they’re already in a worrying position. Who knows when someone will find them? “I’m fine, Rodimus. I promise.” 

Rodimus nods, sitting on his hands. He rocks back and forth slowly, spoiler wings flicking. He stares into the dark. The dancing illumination from his biolights glances and glimmers off of the ice, red sliding into black sliding in to red, and it feels like a millennia has passed when he groans and slumps against Thunderclash. He checks his chronometer; it’s been less than ten minutes. He pushes air through his vents, feeling it move through him, cool air freezing his internals briefly before his frame brings him back up to operating heat. He always has one or two fans engaged to keep his more delicate internals from melting from exposure to the forge of his Sigma. Steam blooms around his frame, the little cavern heating minutely before it escapes through the cracks in the wall. 

Usually this is the point where someone tells him to shut up and sit still, or they start talking to him, or they wrap an arm around his shoulders and try to _distract_ him. Anything is better than just - this silence. Thunderclash sitting next to him and acting like he’s not even _there_. 

The ceiling is too low for him to stand up and pace, but he _wants_ to, now. Nervous energy is buzzing in his chest, cyberflies feasting on his insides, in the palms of his hands, and he ... 

He notices that Thunderclash is shivering. Quietly, like he’s all clenched up to hide it, the shiver kept close to his chest, but he can’t hide the fact that his plating’s clattering and his teeth are clenched. Rodimus turns to look at him, _really_ look at him, dented shoulder and dim, red optics and tense frown. “You’re cold.” 

“Rodimus, I’m fine.” 

“You’re _cold_. Why didn’t you say anything?” Rodimus shuffles up against him, opening up all the vents in his frame again. The cold bites when he cycles air through them, but it’s better than letting Thunderclash go cold. “I’m warm as frag, you idiot. I don’t mind sharing heat with the mech I’m seeing on the regular.” 

“I would say we’re doing more than simply fragging on the regular.” Thunderclash sighs. “But thank you for thinking of me. I didn’t want to put you out. I know someone with your internal temperature would feel the cold more keenly.” 

“I’m not the one shaking like aluminum foil in the wind.” Rodimus can _still_ feel him shivering, and he climbs into his idiot’s lap. “C’mon big guy, don’t need to be so tough. I’ve got enough fire for both of us.” 

Thunderclash settles hesitant hands-on Rodimus’s thighs, engine picking up a notch as Rodimus’s knees settle against the plating just above his hips and their frames slot together like two puzzle pieces. Rodimus’s hands come down to rest on the bars over Thunderclash’s headlights. He leans in close, until their foreheads are touching, air from their vents mingling. He can feel when Thunderclash’s frame starts to heat, the air cycling through their frames growing warmer as it passes from one mech to another without a chance to escape or cool. Rodimus can almost see it, the air passing through his frame, then out, into Thunderclash’s, in a motion of sharing more intimate than any kiss. Their fields buzz against one another, meshed together until Rodimus can’t tell where one of them starts and the other ends. 

It’s all too natural for him to lean up and slot their mouths together. Thunderclash’s plating is cool to the touch, and his mouth is obligingly soft. Rodimus turns his palms until they’re facing upwards, scraping the undersides of his headlight guards. Thunderclash’s engine gives a surprised little sputter, thumbs rubbing against the tops of his thigh plating. “We shouldn’t. The others will be looking for us.” His tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, optics dim. 

“No better way to warm up a frame.” Rodimus revs his engine softly. “Only other option I’ve got for getting us warmer is flaming up, and I don’t think that’s much of an option for us.” 

“The ceiling would melt.” And there’s no telling the stability of the rocks above them. 

“Then let me warm you up.” Rodimus nudges closer, until his thighs are spread wide over Thunderclash’s thick hips, pelvic plating pressed together. He can feel the wet heat seeping up through Thunderclash’s panel, barely there but promising more. Thunderclash shivers, and this time it has nothing to do with the cold. 

Water drips onto his helm, startlingly cold, and it breaks him out of some of his haze. “Rodimus, we’re _melting_.” 

“I mean, I know us getting together is hot as frag -“ 

Thunderclash tilts his helm forward, letting the water drip down his crest. “I mean we’re melting our little cave.” He watches as the first droplets of melted snowfall onto Rodimus’s frame. They hit his spoiler and the metal wing jerks, catching Rodimus by surprise. 

“Frag, that’s -“ He whines deep in his chest. He can feel lubricants pooling behind his panel. “I was looking forward to fragging you.” He shifts his weight in Thunderclash’s lap, panel scraping against Thunderclash’s. He’s still stretched out from their quickie before getting off the ship, and it’d be so easy to just shift his weight a little and slide onto Thunderclash’s spike. 

He can _feel_ how much Thunderclash wants to, too, his field flush and vibrating with desire. He presses his hand to the small of Rodimus’s back, keeping their frames pressed together. “It’s probably better. We don’t want anyone catching us.” 

“How fast do you think they’re going to find us? They have an entire mountainside to search.” 

“They likely have Brainstorm and Perceptor trying to find us.” 

“And?” Rodimus shifts again, grinding their panels together. “They’d know better than to interrupt.” 

“How would they know -“ He’s cut off by his own groan as Rodimus slides fingers through the slats of the vent in his abdomen, teasing the delicate, hypersensitive nodes meant for registering air temperature and flow. Though they’re not technically calibrated for pleasure, the sensors there can feel pressure, and pressure translates into pleasure far too easily. “ _Rodimus_.” 

“Just a little bit, c’mon, I’m right here and ready for you.” He tilts his hips, rolling them against Thunderclash’s pelvis like he’s riding spike. Thunderclash feels him slide back his pelvic paneling, the plush, achingly hot lips of his valve smearing slick over Thunderclash’s plating. “Open up for me, big guy, let’s melt the whole damn room -“ 

It’s the tug on his vent slats as Rodimus moves his hands from his abdomen to his shoulders that finally breaks Thunderclash’s normal iron-clad self-control. His panel opens, spike surging upwards against the dripping, hot apex of Rodimus’s thighs. A hitch of his hips, Thunderclash pressing against the small of his back to urge him down and onto his spike, and Rodimus is taking him to the root. Thunderclash gasps; Rodimus moans. They come together in short, rocking motions, Rodimus running so hot that the ice above them is melting into rivulets, splattering onto plating, ice-cold water slipping to seams and over optics, steam rising from Rodimus’s frame and filling the air, blinding both of them. 

Water pools around Thunderclash’s aft and legs. He’s sitting in a pool of quickly-warming and already hot fluids; it makes each thrust and roll of Rodimus’s frame slick-smooth as they both chase pleasure. Thunderclash moves a hand between them to press his fingertips to Rodimus’s node, and it’s just enough extra sensation to send the racer over the edge. Thunderclash follows as Rodimus’s valve bears down on his spike, emptying his tanks deep into his valve. 

Rodimus laughs as Thunderclash’s spike recedes into its sheathe, their mixed fluids just beginning to drip into Thunderclash’s lap before he forces the panel closed over swollen valve lips. “Warm enough now, big guy?” 

Sitting in a puddle of his own slick and melted snow, he looks up at Rodimus, half-delirious with the lingering charge zipping through his frame, and smiles dopily. “They do say snow makes an excellent insulator...” 

Light breaks through the broken wall keeping them inside, and Thunderclash thinks Rodimus looks like the First come again as it falls on plating glistening with snowmelt.

“Rescue’s here! Cover up, you bastards, we could see the steam from a mile away -“ 

“And you were worried about us melting our shelter.” 

Thunderclash laughs, holding his lover in the snow, and he doesn’t feel cold at all. “Maybe I should listen to you more often.”


End file.
